


이 모두를 내게만 다 열어 준 듯한

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24623812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: This was written for the prompt:taeil doesn’t understand when sunflowers start appearing on his door. he thinks someone has made a mistake. hyuck watches him take them from his neighbor window, hopeful taeil will notice him somedayThe title is a line in Daydream.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Moon Taeil
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: Anonymous, Hyuckie Moon Exchange 2020





	이 모두를 내게만 다 열어 준 듯한

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegreatmoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatmoon/gifts).



> This was written for the prompt: _taeil doesn’t understand when sunflowers start appearing on his door. he thinks someone has made a mistake. hyuck watches him take them from his neighbor window, hopeful taeil will notice him someday_
> 
> The title is a line in Daydream.

×××

The Oracle's Temple was cold. It always was, no matter how the Sun beat down on it's vine covered walls. The prince's bare feet hopped this way and that on the chilly stone floor. He'd properly completed all the ablutions the Temple Mother required of him. He was wet, stank of sandalwood, was wearing itchy sackcloth, and couldn't wait to get this over with. 

But where to go? The Temple Mother had instructed him to make his way down the long entrance way, that he would find it clear what to do after that. So he'd inched down the lightless corridor, the dusty air alive with the bones of past oracles, spiders scuttling in the dark. Now he was standing in a small, plain atrium. Light seeped down from a skylight far above. It fell on grey stone slabs and three gloomy entrances branching off. There were no signs, so far as the prince could tell. He tsked. He couldn't stand the mystics. He'd pick a path at random, then that old crone who'd slathered him with perfume oils would make up a prophecy off the top of her gnarled old head. He never should have let himself be talked into coming. That fortune teller at the May Fair had been so insistent though.

"Are you leaving, Prince?" 

An apparition. A figure swathed in white drifted towards him from the left corridor. _A devil_ , some primeval part of him shrieked. His heart raced. But as the apparition drew closer, he saw it was just a child. Probably some poor family's second daughter snatched by the Temple Mother. She was drowning in white silks, a veil obscuring her face. Only a few tufts of golden hair and her dirty toes peeking out below the silks showed showed she was a real being underneath it all.

"I'm looking for answers, Oracle," he declared, raising his shoulders haughtily, speaking down his nose at her. Underneath all the show, she was just some skinny girl, a farmer's daughter or a whore's whelp ot some such. Just because she'd been trained as an oracle, she was still merely a girl.

"Do you think you'll find them here?" 

She spoke low. It bothered him. He wanted to hit her. He would have, had he anything on him. But here he was dressed in sackcloth while this weird kid was wearing enough silk to clothe the obese Queen of Falias.

"Why not?" He raised his palms skyward. 

"Alright. Follow me, Prince. I'll show you how to defeat your brother."

He heard the smirk in her voice. His teeth clenched. Even some temple brat knew his business without him saying a word. Her ghost-like figure was already disappearing down the corridor, footsteps silent on the flagstones. Helpless, he followed her.

Yeri watched the prince - technically her half-brother - march away. The forest path was crisscrossed by thick roots ten times older than any prince and crowded with brambles and curling ferns. The prince, in his foppish black boots and ridiculous full purple breeches, kept stumbling, muddying his expensive clothes and smacking his head on the low branches. Yeri bit her lip to hold in her laughter. She'd been curled up, hidden away high up in this alcove of the Prayer Tower for hours. She'd evaded the Temple Mother, the Perfumier and even the washer woman. She wasn't about to let herself be caught now.

The prince had just rounded a corner, away from the temple grounds and Yeri's home, when her attuned ears picked up the sound of footsteps approaching. A figure appeared, a mound of silk clothing gathered up in their arms to not impede their movements. They harshly blew the veil they wore out of their eyes, then gave up, whipping it off in frustration. The leaf green sunlight fell on his mane of golden hair. Her brother looked quite the picture in her uniform for the Full Moon ceremony. (He was also technically her half-brother. However, unlike the prince, she loved this boy).

"Sis?"

"I'm here." She unfolded herself and dropped down to the forest floor. Joints all stiff, she stumbled. He caught her on instinct, fumbling the slender girl and the mass of white silks. Yeri ended up part bundled up in it all, held up by a flustered kid in drag. She didn't bother holding back her laughter this time.

"Come on, Sis. I'm not planning to get rumbled at this stage."

"Right, sorry," she said, sounding not apologetic at all. She managed to right herself and set about helping her brother free himself from the ceremonial garb. The ceremonial clothes were all dreadful - in Yeri's barely guarded opinion - and took an immense effort simply to walk in without tripping and tearing the fine material. They were very different to her earthy brown daily clothes. Those were perfect for scrambling up to the canopy, hunting water sprites, or even clambering up the outside of the Prayer Tower to hide in an alcove. Not that she was supposed to be doing any of the above. 

"Did it work? Did he fall for it?" 

"Like a charm," he smirked, lifting his arms to help her peel the silks off him, "Hook, line and sinker." 

With one last tug she had him free of the horrid uniform. Haechan filled his lungs with forest air. He stretched from his tiptoes up and up to his fingertips, bare feet sinking into the soft forest floor. Being out in nature, just in his regular shorts and waistcoat suited him so much better than temples and vestments. (Yeri too, though she'd never been given much of a choice in the matter). She rolled the cloth up in her arms, careful to not let it get snagged on a briar after everything.

"I wish I could watch," she remarked. Perhaps she sounded vindictive. She didn't much care when it came to the prince. 

"Me too, Sis. But we'll find out if it worked quickly enough."

They bid their goodbyes. Who knew for how long it would be this time. When he got himself in trouble it was sometimes months before they'd let him anywhere near the sacred grounds again. Haechan presumed he was about to get in a lot of trouble indeed. He disappeared amongst the trees, probably planning to go bother the musician's guild again. Yeri hauled herself up into the rafters of the Prayer Tower, squirreling herself away another hour, until she heard the Temple Mother taking tea on the sunset lawn and knew she could successfully sneak back in.

Haechan had been right, news did travel fast. A manservant spotted the prince sneakily eating something before the duel. They looked like some sort of berry, when the servant stole into the room later to investigate, except that they were an abysmal black, like a water sprite's eyes. Assuming they were a drug, the servant pocketed the rusty tin containing the rest of them, thinking to hawk them outside the apothecary that night. It was only after everything happened that he realised what he had. Two days later, heart in his mouth, he presented the tin and its contents to the Master of Ceremonies, explaining where he'd gotten it and pleading to be believed.

The Master of Ceremonies, mouth twisted like a sour plum, spirited the black berries away to the Armourer's chamber. He knew on that day the Armourer had noticed the line of sweat on the prince's forehead, how his hands shook, how his muscles jerked as if a witch were prodding him with blackthorn needles. At that point, the Armourer had put it down to nerves. He said nothing as the prince and the second in line chose their weapons. It wasn't his place to. In any case, the second in line was steely cool as ever, outwardly calm as a midwinter night. The Armourer was a citizen like any other - he also hoped the second in line would win. When, after only a few minutes, the prince collapsed before the throne, observed curiously by the King, the Armourer grew scared. The prince's body twitched. There was spittle at his mouth, bloody tears in his eyes. He'd been poisoned. Someone would ask if it was on the rapiers, they were bound to. Then the King's eyes would be on the Armourer, and that was never a good situation. 

The two men took the berries to the late queen's herbalist - a brusk, matter-of-fact old woman, invariably dressed in a black smock and sandals. She was no longer a member of court and had only heard snatches of rumours. However, it was enough for a woman of her experience to form an opinion. She showed little surprise when the men, awkward and out of place in her simple cottage, presented their find. 

"There's a similar fruit. It's conjured by a witch in Sunflower Field. She claims it gives special strength, agility, cunning, heaven knows what else. Only that's brighter, black like freshly bloomed hellebore. These wotsits have turned sour. Or someone's turned them so. I'll wager the prince was looking to cheat and got cheated himself."

The men warned her that was a serious claim. In her tiny cottage, a fire smouldering in the hearth, her cat eyeballing them from the wooden lintel, their severe warnings fell limp. She met their big words with a sniff and a flat stare. After being encouraged to generously deposit several gold coins in her strongbox, she allowed them to take her to the King. 

The herbalist - to her chaperones' disappointment - wasn't cowed a bit by the atmosphere of the royal court. The intricate mosaics, the richly dyed fabrics, the ornate throne - it was all the same as when she'd served the old queen. She'd found it overwrought back then. Now there was one lonely, embittered, wilted man at its centre. Now all the decoration struck her as pathetic. She told him the facts as plainly as she understood them. 

The King, frankly, was unsurprised. In the matter of his children, there were two whose mothers he'd troubled to marry. Jeno's had died of an illness some years ago. He'd remarried to a princess from Red Valley. She was the prettiest woman he'd ever met, fair and tall, a swan neck and a sharp nose, and a voice sweet as pear drops. But she'd done little but bother him and draw her godawful kin to his pleasant home. The prince - currently recuperating in his chambers - was the biggest bother of all. By law, he was heir to the kingdom. Yet he showed no flair for leadership nor inclination to learn. So far as the King could see, his youngest was too stupid to know he lacked at all. He presumed himself above everyone and, accordingly, treated them all with absolute disdain. He had no reliable, loyal companions and didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to his half-siblings. In itself, that last wasn't bad, but the King knew several of his bastards were wily brats. They needed to be watched. The prince scorning them further proved he was unsuitable for leadership. That was why the King had called for the duel in the first place.

Jeno reminded the King of his late wife in many ways. Initially, that had made him hate the boy. He'd banished him from his presence for months, even years at a time. However, the boy had grown up and he'd grown well. He was strong and athletic. He studied diligently. He could charm visiting ambassadors in the morning, chat with the vendors in the market in the afternoon, and play with his wild half-siblings in the evening. There was no doubt in the King's mind who should inherit. The results of the duel had been more dramatic than he'd expected (and involved his youngest making a bloody, phlegmy mess on the tiles). But there had never been a chance the King would allow his youngest and his slattern of an ex-wife to finagle their way to victory.

The eldest Princess of Red Valley had to try for days before a sympathetic (naive) servant would agree to help her sneak into her son's room. She found him mostly recovered, he was merely moping in his mounds of quilts and pillows at this stage. She could have screamed if she weren't obliged to be stealthy. Before the duel he had assured her he had a foolproof method of winning. Her son wasn't a poor swordsman, but he was dullwitted compared to Prince Jeno. She had offered to help and he'd scoffed. _Leave it to me, Mother,_ he'd said. _A future king can't be relying on women,_ he'd said. Stupid child. She'd slapped his miserable, pudgy face.

"Tell me what you did."

She'd only just wrangled all the details out of him when the guards came. Her ex-husband's decree to banish her, her entire clan, and to cut off all ties with Red Valley wasn't all that hard to bear. Not when she was filled up with thoughts of revenge. Her being was anger and spite and shame. Cast into the Petrified Forest with her useless child, knowing her family in the valley would punish them further to save face, she channeled her hate through the depths, the lattice of dead roots beneath them. She gave her heart to cold vengeance and turned herself into a snake, small and whip-like and green as emeralds. As she slithered away, the weeds and fungus grew up and swaddled her son, dragging him into the embrace of the earth. The disgraced princess didn't glance back. She had seven bites and seven targets.

The first was for the hussy in the temple. She bit Yeri's ankle as she raced from her dorm, once again late for dawn prayers. Yeri fell, hitting her head on the stone steps. She rose as a stray cat. She was free to roam the temple grounds as much as she liked now, fighting for scraps and kicked by the priestesses when she came too close. 

The second, third, fourth and fifth were for Haechan's best friends: Chenle, the piano maker's son; Renjun, the court portraitist's apprentice; Jaemin, a chef in his family's popular restaurant; and, of course, Jeno. She found the new prince dozing in the Sun near the lake after enjoying a meal cooked by Jaemin's father. A prince loved by his people could do things like that without fear. She enjoyed sinking her teeth into his muscular leg, watching it shrivel into nothing. Jeno, like his friends, became a bird, a brightly coloured finch, chirping desperately in the treetops.

The next target was Haechan, the obvious catalyst for her son's disgrace. Unfortunately, by then the tricky curr had discovered that something was happening to his friends. It took her nine days, hiding under a rock in Sunflower Field to grab an opportunity. The boy was passing from Renjun's parents' cottage to his home. His eyes darted about, alert to threats around him. But not at his feet. She shot out, wound around his leg and sank her teeth in just above his knee. The sun-kissed child transformed into an ice-bear. He was compelled to flee to the barren, snowy slopes of Duckhead Mountain. The boy would spend 21 summers in the cold, watching the Sun shine on his old home. If she could still laugh, she would have.

Before she could leave, there was her seventh bite. This target would never have occurred to her in her old form. As she had transformed, it had revealed itself to her with staggering clarity. Deep in Weaver's Alley was a boy. He was just a child, barely 10 years old. Haechan had met him in the market one day when the boy had been using all his babyish charms on a grandma selling candied strawberries. He'd made Haechan laugh, so he'd bought the kid his strawberries and took him out to play sometimes. They liked to walk near the bardic school, the little boy copying whatever the older kids inside were practising. Today, he wasn't playing in the market or listening in to the older kids' classes. He was in a dim corner of his house, helping his parents with their work. He was surrounded by great heaps of finished cloth as tall as his chest. It was the easiest thing in the world for her to slip in and bite his bare foot. As soon as she did, her seven bites spent, the princess crumbled into dust, never to know the fate she'd laid upon the young boy. Later on, she would be swept up by a cleaning woman with all the other detritus, thrown out into the street to scatter on the wind. The weaver's son, meanwhile, was transported from their land. He was sent to the world of men, whence only a blessing from the Moon had a hope of bringing him back - and everyone knows those are hard to come by.

Taeil wakes up in a strange bed. Multicoloured dreams fall from his eyelashes like petals. Last night he'd had half a can of beer to knock himself out. It's sitting on the windowsill now, late morning Sun glaring harshly on it since Taeil neglected to close the curtains. He's six storeys up when most buildings in this town are two or three storeys only, so it hadn't felt like a necessity. He hauls himself up and, shaky on his feet, trudges over to the window. 

He picks up the can, intending to immediately pour the remnants down the bathroom sink. Only he gets sidetracked by the garden. He'd had a gander yesterday evening when he'd arrived. It's different in the sunshine though, and surveying it all at once like this. It's also much bigger than anything he's used to, held inside high walls topped, sporadically, with chipped clay animals that presumably looked cute when they were purchased in some distant past.

There are patches of wild flowers and brambles. There's what might be an ancestral shrine over in a corner, willow trees overhanging it. A narrow pebbled path begins near the house and peters into nothing around a well kept duck pond. Close to the duck pond are a cluster of sunflowers standing a few feet tall, swaying peacefully. As long as the garden is, over a crumbling wall it extends into an expanse of waste ground that Taeil somehow knows has been waste ground for longer than anyone can remember. In there, the uneven ground has thickets alive with birds, hawthorns dripping with red berries, and springs bubbling up from far underground.

Taeil's told he stayed in this house every summer when he was a child. He doesn't remember it. But when he looks out over the garden, there's something - something rings a bell. The old woman - apparently a grandaunt - must have had a reason to leave him the property.

He rubs his eyes. He's never been good at sleeping in new places. His head feels heavy. He takes the can and tries to remember which door leads to his bathroom. He'll find something edible, he thinks, and a soda and have them out in the garden. As he turns away, he's watched. Perched on an ornamental duck decorating the garden wall, a white bear made of light and dust feels his heart beating for the first time in 21 years. 

×××

It has taken Taeil less than an hour to thoroughly scour all the supermarkets and convenience stores in town. Not one of them has the brand of sandwich bread he likes. He is questioning all his life's decisions, bereft at his unfortunate station upon this mortal coil. He sits by the riverbank and drowns his sorrows.

That's not true. He sits on a pink bench by the glittering stream, golden green with life, and sips the freaky local organic cola. It's decent. His old place didn't have a pretty stream or weird organic sodas. Also, sitting outside for too long would have made him feel guilty for damaging his lungs. He really wants his usual sandwich bread though.

He slots the cola bottle into the side-pocket of his backpack and picks himself up. Over the course of his first few days in this town, he's found it's exceptionally easy to get lost staring into nothing. Wandering his garden; standing on Brave Hill and watching the setting Sun staining red the warehouses and factories to the north; or like this, feeling bedazzled by the pure water burbling over stone. It was something, he supposed, about the atmosphere of a small place. Perhaps he'd grow out of it once he'd cleansed the smokestack city from his bones. In the meantime, he had errands to do.

He followed the stream a little further before turning down a warren of redbrick houses, neat and square. The years-out-of-date flyers on the community notice board and the huge, scraggly trees tearing up the pavement showed it was a venerable neighbourhood. After getting lost more than once, he finally stumbles on a covered arcade. He's told it houses a market on weekends, selling machine parts and an unexpectedly wide range of computer hardware and accessories. Right now, he needs a regular hardware shop. The executors of his grandaunt's will had not made it clear to him just how many repairs his new tenants were likely to require.

He should have anticipated it. It's an aging building. But then, he'd never anticipated being part of the landed classes. Until less than a week ago, he was living in a one-room apartment above an off-licence and across the road from a noraebang of awfully ill repute. He taught piano, singing and guitar in various locations around the city and rode public transport. This town has a single bus service and he's yet to get a clear answer on when it arrives or where it goes. 

In the shadowy arcade, his footsteps echo, stirring up the dust. He feels uneasy, like he's being watched. There's no one, though, except the pigeons in the rafters and a few black-fingered old men reading newspapers in their shops, surrounded by grease and metal. And someone blasting Khalil Fong. Tasty. He follows the sound, ducking into a shop with a droopy flag outside reading 'Cian Kun Hardware ☆!'

Gnomes. Jeno's read about them - back when he had hands to hold a book with. He likely knew more about them than most residents of their land. Even so, he'd had no idea how very annoying they are.

He swoops down, crashing into the grey man, forcing him off Renjun. The impact makes the gnome's hammer fly from his hands. On his hands and knees, he scrambles to pick it up. Renjun flutters his indigo feathers and hops over to Jeno.

"Shall not pass. You shall not pass. You're all pixies, despite the feathers. Don't think I don't know. Pixies shall not pass." 

"No one was trying to hide it from you, you bloody stupid little man," Renjun squawks. Jeno doed not consider this very diplomatic language for someone who just had a gnome's hammer at his throat. But Renjun's never been one for tact.

"Now then," Jaemin comes forward, his lilac feathers puffed out prettily and his sky blue tail wagging behind him. Jaemin's always considered himself a smooth talker. "I can see you're a gentleman." 

"Am I fuck!" the gnome rejects, tapping his hammer on his own skull with a resounding clank. 

"And I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. All we want is to watch over our friend." Jaemin's eyes are bright like stars. If he were still his old self, this is where his winning smile would come into play. Jeno, Jaemin, Renjun, Chenle and Haechan - still hiding in the shadows - observe the gnome closely for any reaction. 

" You shall not bloody pass!" 

"I quite agree," Jaemin replies, ignoring the spittle flying at his face, "We'd like to pass without any blood spilt whatsoever." 

"I'll have you, Pinky!" 

The gnome charges, hammer raised to attack. With nothing for it, the birds dart up into the roof. The gnome peers, but his rocky eyes can't pick out more than a hint of Jeno's yellow feathers and "that knobhead's" pink chest. Renjun's deep indigo and coffee brown and Chenle's dappled red and white easily fade out of his vision. He spits on the ground.

"You shall not pass!" he yells in the birds' general direction, waving his hammer at them. 

"What about me?"

Haechan emerges from the gloom. He's back to his old form - the tanned, long-haired boy. He's a little older now. His hair has turned black, like most mountain dwellers and absolutely unlike the other Sunflower Field inhabitants. He's swapped his shorts and loose clothes for a more mature and fitted style of breeches and shirts. He's very much the Haechan of old though. In fact, he's the only one of his friends who've changed form, and Haechan wants answers why.

"You shall not bloody well pa-"

"Yes, yes. I heard you already." He waves him off, strolling up and stopping just (hopefully) outside hammer swinging distance. "Why not?"

"Because you bloody shan't. I'll have no pixies in here. There's nought good comes from pixies." 

"Sometimes good comes from pixies," Haechan reasons, "My lilac friend used to give extremely good hugs when he had arms."

The gnome squints at him hard. Haechan tries not to show it, but he feels certain he's just put his foot in it. 

"I do not hold with hugs," the gnome enunciates. Haechan grits his teeth. 

"Well, quite. I'm sure your point of view is very fine. It's okay by me if I don't enter, but I'm still going to watch over my friend." He raises his palms in a gesture of peace. Who knows if gnomes even have gestures of peace, but he has to try. 

"He's not your friend, Pixie. He's a man now, and it's best he stay that way." 

"He should get to choose what's best. I was a bear. That was good in its way, but not a patch on having opposable thumbs."

The gnome only glowers, gnarled fingers flexing around his hammer. It's evident he can hardly wait for an excuse to start swinging. Haechan figures he needs to aim simpler. 

"Choice is important. I'm sure you agree. I mean, imagine if some lord came and took your hammer -" 

"No one shall take my hammer!" 

"No, of course not, but just imagine if - "

"No one shall bloody take my hammer! Nought good comes from pixies! You shall not pass!!" 

His roar makes the cavern shake. Impressive for such a compact body, Haechan admits as he's fleeing. The gnome's charge is impressive too. Haechan's fast, but he can feel the wind of the swinging hammer a breath from smashing his spine when Jeno and Renjun clamp his jacket in their beaks and lift him to safety.

The five friends fly out of the dark cavern stinking of metal, out to the blue sky. The gnome leaps about, hollering in impotent fury at their departing figures. In the heat of his rage, he does not notice the object dropped from Haechan's pocket, spiralling down to land past the gnome's line of patrol, right on the threshold.

Taeil's a few blocks from home when he hears a call come in. He's expecting one, and has a feeling it'll be bad news. That's why he heaves off his backpack and drops down to the pavement right there by someone's pristine white garden fence, rummaging for his phone. The person rings off too soon, but deposits a slew of messages. 

[Taeillie!! Good news 😊] 

[Dad broke his leg 😟] 

[…!!]

[Which means 😀😀] 

…

Taeil takes off at a sprint. 

Moving from the city all the way down to an unknown hamlet is an expensive business. He was able to handle a lot of it himself, posting a few packages to his new address and bringing more down himself on a couple of express bus trips. For some other (highly important) things, though, he is relying on his friend, Seulgi. She has a licence and her dad has a van that he uses for his mobile pet grooming business. The bad news Taeil had anticipated was her dad working during the weekend, as he often does. But no, her dad's out with an injury. Very sad and stuff, but it's all coming up Taeil. Seulgi's already on her way with his precious things.

Hendery, on his way out, catches him as he leaps the few steps to the entrance and promptly runs out of steam. Taeil's fit, but sprinting is not his speciality. He pants, trying to get his breath back to normal in front of one of his tenants. His face feels boiling hot. There's sweat dripping onto his eyelashes. 

"Afternoon, Hendery," he wheezes.

"You alright, Chief?" 

"Super." 

There's nothing in the entrance way apart from the eleven postboxes affixed to one wall, a broken plastic broom in the corner, and a clock, the ticking of which helpfully makes the silence uncomfortable.

"Um, I got the parts you need for your shower. Are you sure you guys can fix it? If you'll need a plumber, may as well say now."

"We can't, but Lucas can. I know he looks like he'll only bring destruction, but he's a whizz. A wunderkind. Wundergiant."

Hendery grins, flipping his long black fringe out of his eyes. The grin is supposed to be reassuring, Taeil assumes, but he finds it ever so slightly unsettling. But the whole of the first floor is slightly unsettling to him. There's Hendery with his marionette limbs. His bony roommate is Dejun, who Taeil's informed has a cute smile, though he's only seen him scowling thus far. They live with another kid called Yangyang, whom Taeil is supposed to pretend he doesn't know has been living there rent-free for a year, despite how he fills the halls with loud American hiphop at one in the morning. Across from them, there's the friendly giant from Hong Kong, Lucas, and Sicheng - Taeil's first impression of whom was watching him planking on top of the garden wall at dawn as a bet. Taeil's sure they're all perfectly nice once you get to know them.

He pulls his backpack to the front to fish out the big, oil-stained paper bag with - what he hopes are - the correct parts to fix Hendery, Dejun and Yangyang's shower. In doing so, Hendery's eyes land on the sunflower in the side pocket, squeezed in with the organic coke.

"You got another one, Chief?" 

"Oh, yeah. I found it in the hardware market. It was just lying there."

The first had been on Taeil's rented bike. When he left to go for a jog early on his second morning in this place, he'd found it held by the bike's spokes. It was a few inches tall, fiery orange in the pre-dawn light, petals fading to a childlike yellow at the tips. Taeil had no idea where it had come from - it was unlike the ones in his garden. Even so, he'd propped his bike against the front wall the night before, a chain padlocked around it. Any passer-by could have stuck the flower there. Taeil's not conceited enough to think he's picked up a secret admirer after only a couple of days in town. The Chinese floor seem to disagree. 

"So it was just there on the ground? No sign of who left it?" 

Hendery's twisting the stem in his fingers, admiring the petals. These are different again, pinkish orange like a grapefruit. 

"I guess someone bought a bouquet and this fell out," Taeil shrugs. He has a strong urge to snatch the sunflower back. Logic tells him that's wholly unreasonable - it's just a weird flower he found on the ground. Instead he merely stares at Hendery's thin fingers manhandling his find.

"Maybe," the boy allows at last, thankfully, handing the flower back. Taeil tenderly - more tenderly than before it had been taken from him - slips it back in the side pocket and slowly slides both straps of his bag back on his shoulders, careful not to jostle little thing. Hendery snaps his fingers. "You should ask Taeyong-hyung about them."

"Why?" Taeil suddenly doesn't want to ask anyone about the flowers. In that moment, he doesn't want anyone else to see them. 

"Taeyong-hyung knows a tonne about nature. Mostly gross things, but he knows about plants too."

"I'll think abou-" His phone rings again and Taeil just _knows_ it's Seulgi with an update. "Ah! I have to go. Come knock on my door if you need anything!" He's off sprinting again, this time up the six flights to his apartment, as if his legs weren't sufficiently angry with him already. 

A flint grey cat, a golden finch, and a boy powered by his own determination sit in the branches of the ancient oak tree. The night sky cascades around a fat crescent moon. The stars chant histories to each other. Down here, no one hears them apart from the oak itself. Behind the glass window two people move around busily. At least two. There's a presence in there that has Yeri, Jeno and Haechan all on edge. 

"It's really him," Yeri states for the third time since they've been there.

"I told you," Haechan snaps. 

"Sure, but who'd trust you? I thought you were just fixating or something… He looks older. He looks older than us," she points out. 

"Time works weirdly there. It doesn't cycle or knot. It can't even repair itself," Jeno explains. 

"Hmm, I know. But it's strange to see it in action like this, Prince." 

"It's on the treasonous side for you to call me that, Sis." Birds can't laugh, but he tosses his head happily. (The old king had plenty of bastards to stake a claim to his throne. After some tussling, it came to Jisung, a gangly young man whose key policies are 'support artists' and 'be excellent to each other'). 

"I'm a cat. All cats are treasonous by default," she claims, long tail swishing behind her.

Inside, the humans are being rather dull. They were unpacking earlier. The pixies saw them set up a huge keyboard and carry it into another room. Then they were taking books and things from paper boxes and slotting them into big wooden cases. The process appeared to hold some manner of magic to them, given how long they bickered about the proper arrangement of everything. Now they were just sitting on the old woman's rug, and listening to age old songs from the world of men. 

_I feel like I'm clinging to a cloud, I can't understand, I get misty_. 

Haechan creeps closer, drawn by the strange music. He edges along the branch, closer and closer, until he could brush the glass if he dared stretch his arm out. He gasps.

The old woman's circular rug was woven by hand. That much is obvious - an echo of the craftsperson's efforts is held within each knot. The design is of three triskeles radiating red and gold. It's the same symbol on the Prayer Tower in the Oracle's Temple. It's the same symbol carved onto the back of the throne. It's the same symbol in the centre of their sunflowers, should someone only pause to look. And Haechan's old friend is lounging at its heart, sipping wine. That settles it. Taeil _is_ the answer to turning his friends back to normal. If Haechan can only puzzle out the signs.

"But of course, Pixie," the oak speaks into his mind, "And now you ought to run." 

Haechan rubs at his temples. The tree's voice made his head ache. It's not like them to choose to speak in the first place. In confusion, he looks back to the humans. He lets out an almighty yelp and scrabbles away from the window. That's _all_ he needed right now.

"Yeri! Jeno! Abort mission. Home, James. Gotta make like a tree!" 

"He likes me more than you," Seulgi preens, petting the head of the bearded dragon in her arms. 

"Sir Lucian knows you're a soft touch. He's buttering you up," Taeil chuckles. Seulgi and her girlfriend have been taking care of Sir Lucian for a few days, until she could bring him and his enclosure up in the van. In those days, they've gone from barely veiled horror, to Sunmi sending regular texts to check up on Sir Lucian and ask for dragon selca and whatever Seulgi's doing now, holding the bemused beast up to her face to coo at him.

Topping up her mug of wine (not that she needs it), something draws Taeil's attention to the window. All he sees is the half-moon shining through the branches of the old oak. He can't look away immediately. There's a thought, it's just out of reach, like if he dared stretch his fingers out they would brush it. No matter what, it won't come to him. He turns away to rescue his dragon from its drunk aunty.

×××

"How pretty!" 

The petite woman crosses the rug like a cloud in her long white skirt. Only her toes, painted purple, peep out. She holds her black hair back as she leans forward to smell the sunflowers in their vase. The glossy black of her hair stands out against her yellow lace top and the blooming sunflowers. Her presence is making Taeil feel a bit shabby. He'd had no intention of leaving the flat before lunch, so she's caught him in his comfiest (ancient) grey hoodie and shorts. He holds the foil wrapped bread she brought him closer. Bread is good. Bread is soft. Bread would never judge him.

"Where did they come from? They can't be from the garden."

"Er, they're not, no. I don't really know. I just found them."

Joohyun is the only other resident in the building who lives on her own (not counting her British short hair kitty and a pair of pionus parrots). When she heard Taeil whining about sandwich bread, she promised to bake him some. She's pulled through, carrying two big fragrant loaves, still warm from her breadmaker, up from the third floor. 

"They'd been discarded?" She sounds upset on the flowers' behalf. 

"Something like that."

"It's good you gave them a home."

He smiles sheepishly. He'd had to by the fifth one. Sunflowers are big, as flowers go, and keeping them in a glass with some tap water was increasingly impractical. (Besides, he only has two glasses). He bought a tacky china vase with a picture of two women spinning wool in a meadow from the charity shop in town. It's a little large. But he expects he'll have more to fill it soon. The fifth sunflower (a yellow so pale it's almost white) was lying on his welcome mat at the top of the stairwell this morning. Try as he might, he's struggling to come up with a logical explanation for that.

"Do you know about flowers at all?" he asks, "I want to find out what type they are." 

"No, I'm clueless," she says, running her finger over the chipped vase, "I didn't know sunflowers even came in this many colours."

"Nor did I." He does try not to show his disappointment. Clearly he fails miserably, because she adds,

"My colleague might though. He keeps an allotment that he's always going on about. I'll ask him when I see him this evening. You trust Noona, alright?"

"Alright, Noona!" 

"Speaking of work, I should really go get ready. If you like the bread, I'll bake you some more. Don't hesitate to ask. Can't have you up here starving."

Taeil smiles. She's sounding a lot like his real noona now. He shuffles the bread into one arm to wave her goodbye. Trust the bread. Bread would never let him down.

Joohyun teaches an evening class at the same college the Chinese kids attend. It's not bookkeeping, but it's something like bookkeeping. He regrets not paying more attention if she's going to be feeding him now.

A realisation flashes into his brain. He all but canters to his kitchen. He's going to make himself a sandwich and it's going to be amazing.

Taeil's greataunt reserved the entire sixth floor for herself. It's still split into two apartments like the other floors. She seems to have treated one side as storage space. Taeil's made it the home for all his instruments and Sir Lucian. It was Joohyun asking to see his keyboard that had him giving her that impromptu house tour. When Taeil's settled, he wants to take students again. At which point Sir Lucian will need to move across the hall with Taeil. That's a hurdle for a later date. At this present moment, all Taeil's thoughts are cheese and chutney.

Haechan hears only his own ragged breaths and the low rumble of the dragon above. Renjun again offered to fly him up. However, Haechan's sure that'd break some mystic law. Mystic laws were made to be broken - in the sense that the vindictive higher powers relished in any measly, pernickety excuse to curse a pixie to eternal damnation. Haechan grunts. Stupid higher powers. Stupid guardian beast.

He thinks about Renjun and Chenle waiting out in the old oak. It appears to Haechan that they take their continued birdhood worse than Jeno and Jaemin, although they endeavour not to show it. Jeno was trained for diplomacy and Jaemin had always chatting up the diners over cooking for them. On the other hand, Renjun had been a painter and Chenle a pianist. He wonders if they feel like he had, when he'd been able to view the sunrise but not feel it's warmth.

In any case, it'd be great if they could trust him a bit more. 

"I think Yeri's right," Renjun had remarked out of the blue as they were trekking the winding pebbled path here. (To say _they_ were trekking is inaccurate. Haechan was trekking while Renjun perched comfortably on his left shoulder and Chenle on his right).

"About what?" 

"That you're fixated," Chenle explained. 

"Excuse me?!" Haechan whipped his head around. 

"He's saying it, not me!" Chenle squawked, flapping his red and white wings right by Haechan's ear.

"I'm not," Haechan bites, side-eyeing Renjun. 

"You spend a lot of time watching him."

"He's the answer. I'm sure of it," Haechan defended himself. It's starkly obvious to him, though seemingly not to anyone else. 

"Maybe. But what is watching him and leaving your mementos achieving?" 

"I'm gathering signs," he pouted, crossing his arms. That didn't answer why the sunflowers. Because Haechan isn't sure why. He feels compelled. Rationally, he hopes they may dislodge memories in Taeil of his other life, although this is hugely unlikely. And anyway. Anyway… It looks right when Taeil holds them.

"What signs?" Renjun questioned after a few moments pondering. 

"I'll know them when I've gathered them." It sounded lame. But isn't that always how things are when you're breaking evil curses. The solution isn't going to be helpfully indexed in a book somewhere.

"He grew up handsomely." 

"What?!" 

"He did," Chenle agreed. Haechan was about to get whiplash from how fast his head spun between the two birds. 

"He's a human," he countered. Unimpressed, Renjun glided on an air current and looped back on to Haechan's shoulder.

"Sure. A handsome one."

Chenle trilled at that. This meant Haechan couldn't be too irritated. Chenle used to laugh more easily than anyone. The fact that he can't anymore pains them all, but the sound that replaced it is almost as cute.

Arms trembling, he heaves himself up another featureless rock face. Nearly there. The dragon must be enjoying this, he grumbles, preparing himself for the next assent. Whatever Renjun was suggesting, he tells himself, the blue bird is wrong. He's here to investigate. He's here for the sake of his friends. The fact that Taeil is pleasant to the eye is beside the point. The way his smile is exactly the same as when he was a child and how it lights up Haechan's heart, these are incidental details. 

"What wouldst thou, Piskie?" 

The beast is above him, it's hot breath making it hard for Haechan to get air. It smells of sulphur and the lethal potcheen distilled by the keepers of the pear tree. Its knobbly paws are crossed, hanging over the edge. The beast gazes down at him, curious, a hint of a smile on its scaly face.

"You already know what I would, Dragon. I am once more requesting entrance."

"And what wouldst thou do with such permission?" 

Haechan growls. Every time the same, yet just different enough for him to keep hoping he's accomplishing something. Maybe he's not. Maybe this is all the damn guardian dragon's idea of a game and it has no intention of ever letting Haechan in. 

"I would watch over my friend."

"That bard bides in this world of men. He would no see thee, Piskie."

"All the same, I have to try."

"Yon kitten is in that temple its library."

Haechan gets a lungful of sulphuric air. He doubles over coughing. That surprised him. This is his fifth time visiting the dragon and the first time the beast has diverged from whatever script is running in its head. 

"And what about her?" 

"A special Full Moon ceremony is upon us. Do her vestments still fit her after these many years?"

Haechan gapes. Is this a joke? Or a riddle that he has to pay attention to? His shoulders slump. It's probably both. Most things with this bugger are. 

"I'd wager the late Temple Mother sold them to a seamstress long ago. My sister's silk vestments are likely protecting valuables in Red Light Alley as we speak."

"A grand fate for a vestment."

Haechan guffaws (and ends up coughing again). The dragon really is joking. Trust him to get an unshakeable guardian beast making wise cracks. 

"Thy seven tributes are in the spinners' bottle. It's fine they look on the pianoforte."

Little of that made sense to him, but 'seven tributes' must mean the sunflowers. Haechan gave Taeil the seventh that morning. The old oak had agreed to hold the flower - delicate pink like the Sun rising beyond its branches - so that it would be the first thing Taeil saw when he opened the curtains and close enough that he could reach across the gap and pluck it from the tree's grasp. Haechan can't fathom why the oak is helping him when he can't even express why he's doing it. Nevertheless, he's immensely grateful. 

"I'm glad. They're from his hometown, when he was one of ours. I hope he'll like them still."

"He dost, Piskie. That bard his eyen draw to them often. Piskie, son of a water nymph, I grant thee entrance. Thou shalt be gone by daybreak."

"You - What?" 

"Now, Piskie. Whilst time is good."

Flush with renewed energy and vigour, Haechan pulls himself up to the summit. The dragon puffs up its chest. Two sandy, webbed wings unfold from its back. It lifts itself up and zips away into the starry expanse. Haechan runs, careering through a gossamer veil. 

They're in Taeil's dream. They must be, because there are things in here Haechan's never seen before, faces he doesn't recognise. Even the familiar is unfamiliar. Taeil's hand in his, the weight of it, the solidity. It's so human. Haechan's fascinated. The soft palm, the rough knuckles, the calluses on his fingertips. Haechan runs his thumb over it, holds it against his lips. And Taeil isn't bothered by Haechan's attention. He's telling him about the place he grew up, some citadel full of smoke dragons. It sounds horrid, frankly. But when Taeil talks about the humans who raised him, Haechan feels relieved. A father like a sturdy alder. A mother to genuinely care for and nurture him. A sister who doesn't sound a bit like Yeri.

"No wonder you grew up so well, Little bro."

The words spill out. Haechan's uncertain. How will that sound to his friend who's human, who doesn't remember him? But Taeil just giggles. He tries to cover his mouth. Haechan doesn't let him, gently wrapping his fingers around Taeil's wrist to bring his hand down. He's gone 21 summers without the heat of the Sun or his friend's smiling face. He's not willing to lose either now.

They talk and talk on top of the Hill of Warriors. Haechan likes the sound of the adult Taeil's voice. He likes it even more now it's directed at him, all the man's attention on him. It's surprisingly easy to make him laugh. Once Haechan's figured out how, he can't stop, capturing it in his heart.

The fear jabs at him - what if this is the last time? He doesn't know how he entered the dream in the first place. What if the dragon is giving him this only to yank it away again? He attempts to ignore those thoughts, to absorb the moment he's been gifted. His younger friend beside him, his expressions, his ideas, his brown hair soft between Haechan's fingers, his broad back under Haechan's arm.

The Moon fades and sinks. Blue slowly floods the sky. The view is nothing like it should be. Instead of the petrified forest, there are metal forges. Instead of the lumbering giants emerging from their caves, there's the distant roar of smoke dragons. The rising Sun glows dazzling pink on the forges. Haechan is given this one impression. Then he's snatched away.

Taeil awakens in his living room, flat on his back on the old woman's rug. There's sweat on his brow. The ancient tree taps at his window. He stumbles to push open the glass. To let the air rush in. His vision is hazy.

It's dawn. Birds are singing, hidden amongst the branches. Did he drink? Did he sleepwalk? He's sure he remembers climbing into bed last night.

He dreamt. Those dreams are fluttering away. He tries to catch hold of anything he can. But his fingers grasp air. A black haired boy with the prettiest smile he's ever seen. They were together. And the boy shined under the sunlight. And the Moon gleamed for them. And they… They were …

Taeil can't remember. It's all gone from him. His feet take him tripping through to his bedroom. He jerks open the faded curtains. For a moment, the garden below shimmers in the dawn, alive in a way he can't explain. Taeil rubs his eyes. It's gone. It's all gone from him.

He picks up his pillow from the bed and hugs it tightly. His garden lies below, quiet, serene. Insects flit about the duck pond. The sunflowers stretch toward the morning. Tears are stinging Taeil's eyes and he doesn't know why. He watches dawn drip by drip colour the wild waste ground, the neglected ancestral shrine, the pebbled path to his house. Tears wet his pillow. There's an ache in his chest like half his heart is missing.

×××

"That woman keeps looking at me," Yeri mutters.

"Perhaps she thinks you're cute, Sis,"Jeno suggests. Yeri only points her nose in the air, white whiskers bristling. That presumably means _well obviously_.

They're exploring the parks and fishpond by the Royal Library, and Taeil's neighbour really does keep looking at Yeri. There's not much chance of her ever seeing Jeno, but cats are different. 'The mystic veil between worlds' is just words to them. 

Jeno hops from the rock where they've been watching the clouds to another and then flaps his wings up into the low branches of the tree. He tugs a couple of hazelnuts free and brings them down to share. This being-a-bird thing is pretty nice mostly. He's used to it, and gliding through the air on a sunny day is wonderful. Despite this, he dearly wants to be a man again. He wants to run through the meadows on his own legs, grass between his toes, the smell of chamomile in his nose. He wants to see Jaemin's smile and eat the food he's cooked. He wants to hear Chenle's music and watch Renjun lost in concentration as he paints. He wants to put his arms around Haechan - a finch's wings simply don't have the same impact.

That woman is crouching down, reaching out her hand towards Yeri. She's getting grass stains on her patchwork skirt, but doesn't seem to care. She's a couple of meters (and dimensions) from the cat and she, 

"Psspsspss… psspsspss."

Yeri rolls over, flopping on to her stomach and resolutely facing away from the human.

"Gosh," she grumps. Jeno grins. Yeri likes her cathood too. He's not convinced she even has much interest in turning back, not for her own sake. Life wasn't always easy for her in the Oracle's Temple. Which reminds him, 

"Sis, you've been in the Oracular Library a lot."

"Yeah," she yawns, "I've got a couple of neophytes to help me."

She's not inclined to lift her head to look at him, so he hops on to her shoulders and down to land right in front of her face. She glares - still without lifting her head, just a little twitch of her ears.

"Have you found out why Haechan could enter Taeil's dream? He's never been able to walk into dreams before."

"Hm. Maybe." She sits up again, examining her claws. Touched by the cool breeze, her mane is magnificent, the jagged rock like her throne. "I might have found something."

"Can you tell me?" 

"I don't think so." At last, she looks at him. There's an apologetic droop to her whiskers. He concludes she really isn't sure and isn't just avoiding the answer. "It might break the spell."

"Okay, I see."

They sit quietly, each lost in their own thoughts for a moment. Jeno flies up to pilfer more hazelnuts. The ones near the Palace are especially sweet. He decides he ought to risk coming this way more often.

"Is Haechannie on the right track here?" he asks, interrupting her preening. 

"Depends," she answers, straight away resuming tending her paws. 

The reason they came all this way to the Palace and its library is Haechan's insistence. After, in solitude, mulling over what happened to him the night before, he'd marched up to his friends declaring he needed to read up about his mother. Of course the bastard son of the late king was never going to get access to the Royal Library on his own, so his four friends came to help (and Yeri came because she was bored and 'so I know if anyone gets themselves stabbed').

A combination of Jeno and Jaemin's persuasive powers had got one of the young guards to agree to let Haechan sneak in. Haechan's persuasive powers had been involved too. But he'd got frustrated too soon and ended up implicating certain things about the guards mother. Their half-brother had never really understood that, while 'woman of the night' was merely descriptive of his own mum, most people got upset by such accusations. Renjun and Chenle had also unwittingly been able to assist, in that they got in an argument and Renjun accidentally threw Chenle at the senior guard's face. A perfect diversion.

"Depends on what?" Jeno prods. Yeri just swishes her tail, apparently disinterested. 

"On what he finds."

Jeno doesn't know what to make of that response, so he sits with it, staring into the branches of the hazel as they sway in the wind. In his head, he goes through all the books he read back when he was a boy for anything that might show him what to do. Like Haechan, he realises, he's just gathering signs and hoping they'll lead him somewhere.

A head of curly black hair appears atop the ivy choked library wall. Renjun and Chenle notice first, flying over from where they'd been bathing amongst the lilies to help haul Haechan back to safety. Jeno pauses, glancing about for a lilac chest and a long blue tail. Jaemin decided - against all reason - to go introduce himself to King Jisung. To be fair, everyone says splendid things about King Jisung. However, as Jaemin is the best friend of two of the late king's bastards, it strikes Jeno as the kind of move that's liable to get a bird decapitated. 

There's no sign of him. Disappointed and worried, Jeno shoots over to assist the two birds struggling to help their friend. By the time they've successfully gotten away from the Palace and are huddling on the Sun-warmed rock with Yeri, Jaemin's finally appeared, a pink dot in the azure sky. He has a black twig with a spray of red haws held triumphantly in his beak.

"Sorry I'm late," he breathes, swooping down to land proudly on Yeri's head. "Did you find anything useful, Bro?" 

"Hm, could be." Haechan scrapes his hair back, pushes his lips out. "Depends."

Jeno tosses his head like that's the funniest thing he's heard in days. Renjun eyeballs him - saving up a remark for later, Jeno presumes. It's just that they really are siblings, even when one has clothes, one feathers and one fur. 

"Depends on what? What did you read?" Jaemin is rarely one for reticence when it's just them. "Why are you acting cagey? Sorry but what's that human doing?" 

Haechan swallows whatever words he was about to snap. All heads swivel to where the slender woman in the patchwork skirt is on her haunches amongst the clover. She has a sausage in one hand and a rainbow of feathers and bells tied to a stick in the other. She beams when Yeri looks her way.

"Hello, Pretty~" she hisses, "Psspsspss."

"I am leaving," Yeri huffs, leaping from the rock in one fluid motion. This knocks Jaemin from his perch. He lands with a thunk, bruising his shoulder, but is swiftly gathered into Chenle's wings for a hug.

As Haechan had understood it, his mother was a water nymph who - like any water nymph worth her salt - couldn't be held down by any one man. The old king hadn't cared. She could have as many dalliances as she liked, so long as she came when he called. He'd thought about marrying her if she bore him a decent son.

But Haechan was anything but decent. He was a chubby, brown-skinned thing with wild golden curls and a spark in his eyes that the King found unacceptable in a potential heir. According to the casting of the seer's stones, his future was chaos, Sun and icy darkness and the songs of the stars. The King didn't understand what the mad old man dressed in dirty furs was rambling about, but he didn't like it. He ordered the child be sent away from his palace. He'd kept Haechan's mother around though. She was still beautiful and amenable, and he very much liked being able to claim a water nymph as his.

But how could a nymph ever belong to him? She had one too many dalliances - with every level of society, from brave warriors to tradesmen to visiting ambassadors. The King felt himself mocked. He felt that _he_ had become _her_ plaything somewhere along the way. Making a swift, regal decision, he banished her to the giants' caves where she could sleep a thousand years in the subterranean lakes that have never known sunlight yet. That's the story Haechan knows. According to what he's just read, it's a lie.

The Pear Tree scribe, Yung Chin, in his history of the Hill of Warriors, dedicated a single page to the nymph. Judging by his description, she was someone loyal to her family and her new son, who did what she thought she could to make their lives easier. But she could be fickle and was always led by her heart. One night, when she was relaxing by the river, a boy from Jasmine saw her and sang for her. She found herself unexpectedly and forcefully in love.

This, of course, was not a good situation for her. She really wasn't allowed to be in love. She tried to keep it from everyone - her family, her friends and absolutely everyone who might be connected to the Palace. Palace gossip could be lethal. Even so, no matter how she upbraided herself, she couldn't help being drawn back to the riverside every night.

More often than not, the boy would appear. He stole across the water like a dream. The moonlight enveloped them and the stars listened as he held her in his arms and sang for her. In his songs he told her she was beautiful and charming, that she was witty and deserving of love. It was inescapable. She couldn't shut her heart away from him.

Nor could she hide it from the Palace. It began as a rumour amongst the kitchen staff and worked its way up to the court and a knight from Blackthorn capturing the King's ear. The moment the nymph got word her secret had been unearthed, she hid her son away with a kind family in Sunflower Field. She obscured herself in rippling waters until nightfall when the sweet breath on the wind told her her love was near. They ran.

It was a full moon. In the Oracle's Temple the priestesses were chanting prayers, but in the streets the King's guardsmen's boots pounded, orders spat from the commander's lips. The lovers reached the Hill of Warriors. They could hear the guardsmen below, coming ever closer. The boy from Jasmine was frightened of the petrified forest and the giants beyond. The ice-bears would never let them pass through the mountains to the north. Even if, by some miracle the bears were agreeable, that way led ogres lurking around every pass and banshees screeching in the dark. To the south was Balor's scorched kingdom, where she'd heard a water nymph would be eaten alive. They had nowhere to go. The guardsmen were approaching.

The lovers held each other and cried. Their tears became diamonds and they were taken up to the river of stars. As it flowed, a glittering streak across the heavens, the full moon was dyed red - red for sadness and red for their love. Here the scribe ended his account and here ended the last mention anyone dared make of the water nymph in the royal records.

Haechan reaches Taeil's home a little after midnight. Only the old oak sees, he's come without any of his friends this time. The dragon greets him without the usual preamble. Its hot breath fills the cavern with sulphur. Haechan isn't growing used to it at all. He's dizzy and thinks he's misheard when the beast murmurs, 

"Enter, Piskie. Whisht and move thyself, that bard is awaiting thee."

Haechan nods his head in thanks. He scrambles, heedless, through barriers, through space, and dives into the human's dream.

They're sitting so high up in the canopy, but Taeil doesn't mind. He can't see the ground through the branches, yet it simply doesn't feel dangerous. The cat helps. She arrived some time ago and has been resting contentedly in his lap ever since, letting him scratch her soft grey ears. The view helps too. It's so distracting, so eye-catching. The landscape is sweeping hills and mounds carved by ancient giants. Valleys filled with mist, fields vibrant with wild flowers, great crags whispering to the depths. Sunlight and shadows race across the land. Storms march, swelling till they break on the mountains.

The boy is beside him, describing everything, giving a name to every point on the foreign landscape. His voice is sweet, so full of energy when he's talking about the places he loves. It's hard to worry about anything while he's there. Earlier, Taeil had wanted to hold his hand to relieve his own nerves when he'd first noticed how high up they'd gone. He hadn't done so. He was too shy. He knows this boy, but he doesn't know why he knows him. Their fingers brushed, and Taeil drew back in on himself again. The boy doesn't have the same qualms. He points out a spiral of pink sunflowers and clasps Taeil's hand, excitedly recounting another anecdote full of names Taeil doesn't recognise.

Even though he doesn't recognise them, they're somehow familiar. Everything here is somehow familiar, and the boy makes him laugh with how he tells his story. His smile makes Taeil smile, so bright and pretty, his whole face scrunched up in delight. After he's told his story, he doesn't let go of Taeil's hand. And Taeil doesn't try to do anything about it, enjoying the connection and the anchor (especially when wind shakes the branches, reminding him of the distance between him and solid ground).

At some point, the cat leaves. Then it's just them, the boy's head nestled on his shoulder now, black hair tickling his nose. The hand in his has become an arm around his waist, holding him securely. Night flowers bloom and the stars hum. The boy whispers in his ear. His words are no longer excitable, just heartfelt and true. Taeil tries to carve them inside. He doesn't want to lose this. He knows he will.

They watch dawn swirl up through the mists. The boy squeezes him tight and it's over. He's gone. Taeil tumbles, free falling. He wakes up in his living room again. He's lying on his back on the rug, the eighth sunflower - pink as cherry blossoms - still clasped in his hand. His dreams are rushing away from him like a flock of birds disturbed by a gunshot. He screws his eyes shut and tries to remember. There's the ghost of someone's touch lingering on his skin. A voice in his ear. _I missed you. I really missed you. Please come back_.

He has to push it all away and get on with his day, make use of being awake this early. The sunflowers are uncanny. Nevertheless, he'll never explain their appearance simply by lying on his grandaunt's rug, staring into their centre. So he had another strange dream, so what? He's adjusting to the new house and the new town, to the sudden upheaval in his routine life. He traipses across the hall to place the new flower in the chipped vase with the others and take care of Sir Lucian before fixing his own breakfast. 

After that, he's off to town. He needs groceries. Jaehyun and Mark in 5A broke their TV and he needs to find someone to repair it. Sooyoung and Wendy in 3B have a mouse they've trapped in a laundry basket. Eunbi and Chaeyeon in GB have a mysterious leak in their kitchen. Taeil needs to pin up flyers offering music lessons in a few places and finally start getting himself some students again. He throws himself into all this, but the feeling from just after he'd woken up never quite leaves him. It dogs him all day like a weight around his ankles. When he's finally done and arrives back home, it's two o'clock and he's exhausted.

Rather than crawl upstairs, he plods around the back to his garden. He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The day is warm and his backpack has been growing heavier with every step. He slips it off, letting it drop to the concrete with a thud, and stretches his arms up, feeling his joints crack.

"Afternoon, Hyung!" 

Taeil startles. He hadn't noticed anyone, but when he opens his eyes he sees the shape huddled by the duck pond. Taeyong is waving at him, his frog green shirt flapping around his thin arms. He's smiling happily under the messy black hair that obscures his face. Taeil figures he must be engaged in something he enjoys. It turns out that Taeyong's the one who keeps the duck pond so nice. Not because it's his or because anyone ever gave him the responsibility, but simply because he happens to like it. Taeil strolls up to join him, curled up by the clear water, to have an unexpectedly interesting conversation about dragonflies. 

His eyes are forever wandering behind them to the cluster of sunflowers by the wall. Taeil never did ask Taeyong about the sunflowers he's been finding, like Hendery had suggested. Taeyong spots his distraction now. He mumbles,

"Sorry, I'm boring."

"What?!" Taeil jumps. He loses his balance and falls on his bum. "No, you're not, Taeyongie. It's interesting." He draws his knees up, shaking off the embarrassment. "I was wondering though, do you know anything about sunflowers?" 

Taeyong side-eyes him. He wipes his palms on his torn jeans a couple of times before replying. 

"Did you notice something about our sunflowers?" 

"I- well." Taeil hadn't. But the response is too intriguing to leave alone. "It depends. What sort of thing do you mean?"

Taeyong's eyes widen. He tugs at the blades of grass emerging through the paving stones. He's not used to people taking him seriously on this one. He likes Taeil and really hopes he isn't about to get laughed at.

"Actually, you wouldn't know this, but I've been here two years already. And they're always in bloom. I mean, even in winter the flowers are open. The old landlady said they're a crossbreed and just do that, but it's not… Well, and sometimes they don't face the Sun."

"Like at night?" Taeil interrupts, because even he knows about that, he thinks. But Taeyong shakes his head. 

"No, Hyung. During the day, sometimes they face the house. Sometimes they face the wall. I thought they were sick the first time I saw that, but that was before I knew the flowers never die."

Taeil shivers. Taeyong's hand pulling at the grass freezes. Sensing he's said something overly weird, he backs off.

"But I don't know. It's nothing. It's just kind of weird is all." He rocks back to sit on the ground too, copying Taeil's position with his knees close to his chest. Seeing as the man isn't laughing at him or edging away, Taeyong mouth starts up again. "And like sometimes I could swear - I really think there's… um."

"What is it, Taeyongie?" Taeil prompts, leaning back on his hands. Taeyong is reflexively scratching at a mudstain on his jeans. He's blushing. But in the few times they've met, Taeyong has blushed frequently and unexpectedly. So Taeil can't guess what it means this time. 

"Hyung, do you ever, sort of, see something in the garden? Like, out of the corner of your eye, but when you look it's vanished. Something moving about just behind you and then… er. Do you know what I mean? At all?"

He looks so embarrassed for having said all that - he can't even make eye contact, his gaze darting back to the insects hovering above the pond - that Taeil automatically wants to say yes if only to make him feel better. But he thinks about it. He remembers those times he's looked down on his garden and had the impression that it was breathing, that it returned his gaze. 

"Maybe. Maybe I do."

"Really, Hyung?!" Taeyong hisses, caught off guard by someone taking him seriously on this. Taeil giggles at his reaction. He can't help it. Taeyong's only a little younger than him, but sometimes he's like an eight-year-old catching frogs in the mud. (In fact, that's a fairly accurate description of how Taeyong spends his free time, Taeil realises).

"Yeah, really. Something like that." He doesn't want to talk about this anymore. It's making him feel strange, like the clay animals in attendance on the garden walls are observing them, listening in. "Taeyongie, will you explain to me how the lily pads help again? You told me before but I didn't get it."

"It's about catching rays, Hyung." Taeyong launches into an explanation of the lily pads place in the ecosystem of the pond, back on even ground for him. Taeil is half-listening, letting all his cares drift from his shoulders, resting amidst nature. He never does get around to asking about the sunflowers in his vase. When he ambles over to retrieve his backpack and finally make his way upstairs, he'll find the ninth one, blood red, sitting in the side pocket.

×××

In the shade of a hazeltree four finches and a boy are sitting on a stone, sharing lunch. And arguing. As a joke, Haechan had threatened to snap Jaemin's hawthorn twig and eat the berries. Jaemin hadn't taken kindly to the suggestion. He's been dedicated to taking care of the thing since he received it. When he regains his old form, he plans to take it to the Palace to prove that he's King Jisung's Very Good Personal Friend. Hence, he'll enter the court and receive the title and manservants he so richly deserves. Hence, he'll get fortunes, respect and be able to set his parents up as Esteemed Chefs to the Royal Court. This is Jaemin's flawless plan. 'Flawless' so long as he does regain his old form.

Jeno would laugh at their antics if he could. They're not really fighting, just doing it for fun. He has an idea Haechan appreciates Jaemin's absolute conviction that the curse will be lifted and lifted soon. (The whole reason they came back this way was because Jaemin insisted he liked the area and wished to accustom himself to the royal neighbourhood). The others aren't so confident. Renjun - sitting near Jaemin and Haechan, a brooding lump of midnight blue, interjecting here and there to make the argument spurt off in new directions - has been holding on to a healthy pessimism. Chenle - snuggled under Jeno's wing, treating the thing like a tennis match - has been keeping his thoughts to himself lately. But Jeno heard him the other day, whistling a song he used to often play for them.

As for Jeno, he's not sure what to think. Haechan's obsession with getting their old friend back continues. But who's to say that's the key, the answer he thinks it is? Perhaps the four of them are destined to birdhood. It doesn't do to question destiny. 

He's positive Yeri has no interest in being a girl again. She's with them, lying in a sunny spot, lazily watching the dragonflies warring. He gives Chenle a quick hug and flutters over to her.

"You good, Sis?" 

"Fab, Bro."

"It's the Full Moon ceremony tonight. I didn't think you'd want to come with us."

She wrinkles her nose, her luxurious whiskers twitching. 

"Heaven, no. You don't understand how busy it is before the ceremony. And it's an anniversary, so it's a hundred times worse than usual. All the neophytes who are nice to me are stuck chanting, doing ablutions, arranging a dozen alters - each one unique, more chanting, more ablutions… It's hideous."

He hops over to cuddle into her fur by way of a hug. She's very comfy, it's no wonder that human woman's after her. She stretches, content. She has sunshine, her feathery little brother, and the curse lifted enough to let her do things like this - wandering off the temple grounds to spend time with friends and watch the dragonflies.

"Sis, the ceremony is tonight," he repeats, interrupting her reveries, "It's that soon. Can you tell me what you know?"

"Oh. Hmm." She scratches the ground and crosses her paws. "I don't know much though. But if you think about it, how are vengeful curses usually lifted?"

He frowns, ruminating over all the stories involving curses he can remember. There are a lot, when you get down to it. There are always people far too willing to throw curses around.

"A golden apple from the tree at the bottom of Thorn Valley," he guesses eventually.

"Fair try," Yeri concedes, "But no. It's not that type of curse. Try again."

He does, and grows increasingly frustrated. It's not a duel with a helmeted bear on Foxtooth Peak. It's not stealing a silk thread from the Queen of Falias nightdress. It's not stealing a troll's treasured axe. It's not even a kiss from a virgin monk in Pear Tree Temple. 

"No no no. You're not thinking right, Bro."

"But what does that mean?" he grunts, feathers thoroughly ruffled, "How should I think?" 

"What kind of curse is it? Think about our Haechan. Think about Taeil coming back when he did, all matured like that. It's much simpler than you think, Bro. What usually breaks a spell?" 

As she speaks, the answer hits him like a brick. He looks over to his friends. Stronghearted Haechan, his hair stained black from his time in exile in the mountains. Renjun's regal blue figure. Chenle's soft dappled white and red and his pretty trill. Jaemin's brilliant lilac and his constantly wagging tail. Jeno does his best to imprint the image of them like this. It won't last forever.

That night, Haechan doesn't make the climb to tangle with Taeil's guardian beast. He hikes up the Hill of Warriors to look at the Moon. The ceremony is important for the fabric of things, but usually only remarked on by the priestesses in their temple. Tonight's Moon, though, is particularly big. It hangs in the velvet sky like a second Sun, a golden hue swelling across its surface. Its beauty has brought other inhabitants out. Haechan sits on the grass, feet crossed at the ankles. Nearby are a few couples, a group of uproarious boys from Lakeside (they talk just like Jaemin had when Haechan and Jeno had first ventured into his family restaurant), a lonely firesprite pointing a telescope at the sky… No one pays attention to Haechan.

Somewhere down below, the Temple Mother reaches the 333rd recitation of a certain prophecy. Haechan's eyes are heavy as lead. He closes them, only for a moment. When he opens them again the star-dusted darkness swallows him whole. He sleeps.

Taeil lifts his chipped old vase in both hands and carries it through to the other flat. Sir Lucian observes him curiously, munching on a delectable roach. There's no reason for moving the flowers. Taeil thinks they give a pleasant, fresh vibe to his music room slash Sir Lucian's apartment, if he only ignores their strangeness. But now he wants them to be in the other room. He places the vase on his CD rack and flops down on his rug to see how they look. He sits back, leaning on one hand and swirling his tumbler of cola with the other. The old oak is tap-tapping at his window. 

There are nine sunflowers. They're all different colours and shades. Taeil had stuck them in the vase any old way. But looking at them now, it dawns on him that they've arranged themselves into a spiral, delicate creamy yellow at the outside and the latest sunflower, startling red, at the centre. Having spotted it, he can't tear his eyes away. The oak is tap-tapping at his window. Before he knows it, he's set his glass down and crawled closer.

He leans in close. He peers into the centre of the flowers. There's something he can't quite see, something hiding in the corner of his eye. He twists his head this way and that. Blinks. Rubs his eyes. Gradually, like a veil gently lifted from his vision, he spots it, the shape hidden in the flowers. Is it natural, he wonders. But how can it be? Nature doesn't make such perfect triple spirals like that. Surely it doesn't. The oak is tap-tapping at his window. The steady sound turns his thoughts fuzzy. Head heavy, he drops back on the rug, and drops into darkness.

The garden is the same as ever but not. The air is alive, he can taste it, see it sparking just out of view. The milky way flows across the sky and the Moon is huge, bigger than he's ever seen it, a yellow orb looming above him. He treads down the pebbled path uncertainly. He's looking for something. He doesn't know what, but he hopes he'll know it when he encounters it. He rubs a hand over his heart.

A pair of birds are sleeping by the pond. This is unusual - mostly they only visit during the day then depart. The clover are growing wild, a sea of purple and white. The scent of jasmine from the neighbour's garden drifts sweet in the night air. And the sunflowers - Taeil gasps. He bites his lip, afraid to disturb whatever unknown thing is taking place. The sunflowers are open, facing the shining Full Moon. They dance out of time with the breeze. Taeil is hypnotised.

As he tiptoes nearer, a tiny hand appears between the stalks. Next a head of black curls. Then the body, robust, with long skinny legs, dressed in old-fashioned clothes and about a quarter the size of a human.

"It's you!" the boy greets, "I've been waiting."

"Sorry," Taeil replies as a reflex. He ought to be scared, but this boy is so familiar. He traces the lines of his round face, the slope of his smile, the constellation of moles on his cheek, his cute nose. His eyes bright with the furious stars. Taeil knows him - somehow, something in his soul knows him perfectly.

"Will you come with me?" the boy asks, coming to stand before him. "I don't think I can keep meeting you. Seems like my luck only runs this far. So I need you to come with me. Will you do that? Will you come with me?" 

Taeil likes his voice. He wants to keep hearing it. He considers going with him right there and then simply so he can keep listening to the boy talk. Still, he holds back. When he glances to the sunflowers, he spies the odd, smooth pebbles littering the ground. They form a ring, a perfect stone ring. He's never noticed that in all the times he's walked through his garden.

"Can I? Is it like in fairytales?" 

The boy cocks his head. Despite his size, he's the one exuding confidence. Taeil feels like the ground's shifting below his feet.

"I don't know. What happens in fairytales?"

"If I cross that ring," Taeil gestures toward it, his cheeks turning hot, "I won't be able to come back."

The boys peers over his shoulder to see what Taeil means. He taps his chin, weighs up his answer. His smile is still there, but it's smaller, dragged down by insecurity.

"In that case, yeah, it's something like in fairytales. Is that okay?"

Taeil eyes the tiny boy up and down. He can't see anything malicious in him. Anyway, he already knows the boy's intentions aren't evil. He can feel it inside, he's certain it's true. He knows there's something he needs, something just beyond his vision.

"Yeah, it's okay." He reaches out his hand. "I'll go with you."

The boy grins. It's the prettiest thing Taeil's ever seen. The boy laces their fingers together and they walk towards the sunflowers. With each step, their sizes change. Before they cross the stone ring, the boy stops him and Taeil finds he has to slightly look up.

"I'm so happy. You don't understand - _I_ don't understand. But I'm so happy you're coming home again. I know it's right. I _know_ it."

His thumb strokes Taeil's cheek. He tilts his stubbled chin. He kisses him, unspeakably soft and warm and inviting. Taeil clutches his shirt like a child, heart racing. They cross the stone ring at a run. Behind them, the Moon glows blood red.

Taeil wakes up on his back in his parents' old house. Heaps of their abandoned work around him, a thick woven rug beneath him. Dust dances in the sunbeams slicing through the small box window and caressing Taeil's skin where he lies. Haechan sleeps soundly on his chest, his fingers in the boy's soft golden hair. 


End file.
